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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384566">Bloody Spencer Jackets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyLemon/pseuds/LilyLemon'>LilyLemon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acting, Costumes, F/M, M/M, Poor thing, Remus is so tired, Welsh Remus Lupin, accidental arson, also there's a bitchy neighbour, and says bloody every few seconds, because everyone has that one person, he works in costuming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:07:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyLemon/pseuds/LilyLemon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus, a Welsh costumer who moved to New York to work for Lily's production company, is at his wits end, driven to insanity by the demands of his job - as well as the demands of the entitled actors - and the exhaustion of caring for his three younger siblings. <br/>Then he meets Sirius, another "snotty actor", and a spark is lit. The question is, though, will he follow his heart, or keep living with the monotony he'd previously been content with?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not sure how many chapters there'll be, so we'll have to wait and see! </p><p>For clarification, Lennie, Mo, and Juno aren't characters in the original series (they're my creation) and they're Remus' younger siblings.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lennie, if you don’t open the bloody door in the next three bloody seconds, I’m going to bloody kick it down!” Remus was screaming, he knew it, and he was sure his Welsh accent was coming through stronger than ever, but he decided he didn’t care, and thumped his fist on the door again. Lennie, his seventeen year old sister, didn’t usually spend so long in the bathroom, as she was aware that sharing one tiny bathroom between four people all trying to leave the house before eight was hard enough without one person hogging it. </p><p>“God, you’re so English. Stop hitting the door, I’m opening it!” Lennie was almost definitely rolling her eyes as she said this, but she stepped out, and Remus forgot to say his rebuttal about him being Welsh, not English - it was an important distinction - when he saw her. </p><p>“Your hair. Purple. When did that happen?” </p><p>“Last night,” she said, twirling a strand round her finger and admiring it. “What do you think?”</p><p>“Honestly, I think it’s fucking awesome, but as the responsible adult, I have to ask: what are you gonna say to the school?” Remus was busy making sandwiches as he spoke, but he kept spinning round to look at Lennie’s hair with shock. “The bathroom isn’t dyed purple, is it?” </p><p>“No stained sinks, don’t worry. And as for school, I was thinking of saying it was for an acting performance.” As Lennie spoke, Juno came wandering out of the bedroom and gawped at the new appearance of purple hair. </p><p>“You can’t lie.” Remus tried to be responsible, he really did, and instilling the belief that lying is bad was an acceptable step in being a semi-responsible role model. </p><p>“I’ll tell them it was an accident?”</p><p>“Still lying. And you really think they’ll believe that for a second?” </p><p>“What about,” Lennie suggested, “Just telling them to go fuck themselves?”</p><p>“Fantastic idea, but I propose to you: an idea that doesn’t end in you getting expelled?” Lennie just rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling, so she couldn’t be that bitter, while Juno rushed round the flat in a fit of clear panic. “What’ve you lost?” Remus asked her, knowing there was no way he was getting to work on time. </p><p>“Nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing,” Juno repeated the word as she peered in drawers and under leaning piles of paper. She grabbed a textbook - garish orange with a bold blue print for the title - and waved it in the air. “Found it! Can’t hide from me, fucker!” Remus considered reprimanding her for swearing, but then decided he didn’t care. Since Mo, the youngest, was now twelve, it probably didn’t matter that they all swore more than was healthy. </p><p>“Right, Mo and Lennie, Carol’s waiting outside to give you a lift. I know she’s a judgy bitch who’ll take any opportunity to slag us all off, but for some reason she’s decided to help us out. So unless you’d rather walk the four miles to school, get your things and go. Oh, and don’t forget to thank the old hag!” Carol was one of the wealthy, PTA mothers - the type who wear sports clothes to go to the cafe and boast about their workout routine - and always took great joy in telling Remus everything he did wrong. Unfortunately, her favourite way of doing this was offering Remus favours, like taking Mo and Lennie to school, and then telling him that Lennie was off with too many boys, and Mo needed to speak up more, because she thought he was too shy. In all honesty, Lennie was definitely off with too many boys, but Remus decided that, out of pure spite, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. After all, she was seventeen, and meant to be raising hell. </p><p>As Juno rushed out the door, no doubt unprepared for her lecture, Remus pulled on his coat, finished his tea, and checked his watch.<br/>
“Oh, fuck me.” It was half past eight, and he was forty minutes late. </p><p>*</p><p>“Sorry I’m so late, Lils, this morning was chaos. Did I miss the fitting? I know you’re busy, but if you still want to look over the costumes, I can show you now.” The period where spring turned to summer was the busiest time for them, as that was when most of the Christmas specials were filmed, and fuck Remus if sorting out costumes for snotty actors wasn’t worse when it was six months before Christmas. Luckily Lily, his boss and friend, was fairly relaxed about their schedule, and let Remus work at a normal pace. </p><p>“All I need to see is Alice’s, if you can do that?” Lily asked, passing him a mug of tea and gesturing to the overflowing cupboard, smirking when he kicked back a boot and accidentally knocked over a pile of notebooks. </p><p>Five minutes later and Alice was yelling at Remus, while he contemplated setting himself on fire. </p><p>“I’m not wearing a corset! They restrict your movement, they stop your breathing, they-”</p><p>“No, you’re not wearing a corset. You’re wearing a pair of stays. No arguments, please. I’ll need at least two shots of vodka in me before you start again.” Maybe he was being harsh, but Remus was tired, Alice’s yell was annoyingly shrill, and if one more person suggested that corsets killed women, he was going to personally rearrange their skeletal system. After some consideration, he decided not to say as much, and instead sank into his chair when Alice started up again. “Alice, shut the fuck up. We’re not putting you in stays because we want to torture you, we’re doing it because that’s what women wore. Hear me well enough? Women wore bloody stays, and you’re going to as well. Now, go and give me fifteen minutes of peace, and then we’ll start fitting you for them.” </p><p>It wasn’t that he hated his job, he just hated the people. Then again, as he worked with many, many people, perhaps it would be easier just to say he hated his job. </p><p>*</p><p>It was finally the evening, dark creeping up to the window and the wind wailing, and Remus was readying himself to go home when there was a knock at his door. Although he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone else today - all he wanted to do was go home, sort through the bills, and watch a documentary - he dropped his bag on his desk and whipped round to face the door. </p><p>“What the fuck do you want?” The man standing there looked slightly shocked at his language, but Remus simply stared at him, waiting for an answer. </p><p>“I’ve got a waistcoat that needs fixing?” Trying not to scream at the sudden request - no doubt needed for tomorrow, because he was never given enough notice - Remus opened his notebook and fished a pen out of one of his pockets. </p><p>“Production name?” As he silently prayed that it wasn’t Austen’s Stories - the drama series based off Austen’s diaries, featuring many complicated garments - the man ran his hand through his hair and muttered something. </p><p>“Austen’s Stories.” </p><p>“Let me guess, you need it fixed for tomorrow? Of course you bloody do, you bloody actors never give me more than a night’s bloody warning. The seams need to be done by bloody hand, but no, don’t mind me! I’ll just spend my entire bloody evening sewing bloody seams by hand like some bloody Victorian widow. Give me the garment.” Looking a mix of scared and bemused, the actor stepped forward and handed him a blue Spencer jacket. “This? This is what needs fixing? Where’s the bloody arm? It’s ripped off! Why did you rip off the bloody arm? The embroidery is fucked, so I’ll have to fix that, as well as sew the bloody sleeve back on.”</p><p>“Erm, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it’d cause you this much stress.” The man was well spoken, but Remus tried not to notice his swoon-worthy voice - he had dignity, and he wasn’t going to act like a teenage boy - and instead clicked his tongue. </p><p>“Of course you didn’t bloody realise, nobody ever bloody realises!” Again, Remus tried not to scream. He’d been planning on cooking for the others, but that plan was out of the window, and his entire evening was now going to be composed of stitching a jacket back together - a jacket that had taken thirty hours to sew, in the first place. “Listen, I’ve got to get home, but I’ll fix this for tomorrow.” Now that Remus wasn’t hysterically muttering and using the word “bloody” every few seconds, the actor looked much more at ease. </p><p>As he was about to leave his office, Remus turned around and glanced again at the man, trying to remember his name. It came to him, and he cleared his throat. </p><p>“By the way, Sirius, this isn’t a waistcoat. It’s a bloody Spencer jacket.” He could have sworn Sirius laughed as he strolled out, and, inexplicably, the thought of Sirius laughing at what he said made him grin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lily's an amazing friend (though that's a given) and Remus has a late night phone call that's definitely not romantic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A week after Remus had met the famous Sirius Black - and he was actually famous, mainly for his roles as the swoon-worthy love interest in period dramas, who usually ends up shirtless, much to the joy of the audience - he found himself in Lily’s office, grinning down at her as he begged for a day off. When she finally buckled, he almost jumped with relief - getting a day off was hard enough for him as it was, never mind at the most stressful time of the year. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing on Tuesday then, that’s so important you need the entire day off?” She was sorting papers as she spoke, but was interested nonetheless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, family thing. You know, anniversary of my parents’, um -” Lily cut him off by launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Darling, I’m so sorry I forgot! You poor thing, four years now. How’s Lennie about it? She always gets into vandalism and alcohol at this time of the year, the poor duck.” Lily was one of his best friends - his best friend, really, because he’d lost touch with everyone else he used to call a mate - and knew everything about him, including the circumstances of his parents’ death four years prior. In fact, she’d been the one to bring him traybakes and coax him out of bed each morning, and she’d organised the majority of their funeral while Remus had gone through his breakdown. Lily wasn’t just a rock or crutch - she was the ground that he grew from, the sun that gave him energy. She wasn’t just the reason he woke up in the morning, she was so much more; she was the reason he was alive and able to wake up, and she was the reason he didn’t go insane or off the rails. Without her, he wouldn’t have finished college, he’d have been evicted, his siblings would be in care, and not living with him. In short, without her, his life wouldn’t be one worth living. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lennie’s...coping. We all are, I suppose. I think Juno feels guilty about everything; she’s moving out next month, and she’ll be finishing her degree this year. I’m guessing she feels like she’s moving on, but they’d want us to be happy. And Mo’s lost, I can tell. He was only eight, and I’m not sure how much he can remember about them, but it can’t be much.” Lily guided him to an armchair, which was so comfy it felt like it was made of clouds - although he’d slept on the floor the past three nights, so anything seemed comfortable compared to the hard floorboards - and rummaged in her cupboard for a biscuit tin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, Re, you poor thing. It can’t be easy, dealing with all this. You’re only 24 yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not great, no. I just feel like I can’t do as good a job as my parents would have done, and I’m failing them. Mo’s gonna be a teenager soon, and Lennie’s starting college next year. How am I meant to deal with all that, and not raise them to be serial killers or arsonists?” Lily hugged him again, and Remus contemplated how long it’s been since someone had hugged him. Too long, he decided on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna raise any criminals, don’t worry. You’re doing your best, and of course it’s gonna be hard. Kids are evil little shits, and whatever you do is gonna feel wrong. But you’re such a good person, Re, and they’re so much better for having you there for them. How about you all come over to mine tomorrow evening, and we can have a board game night?” Lily, a genius with everlasting powers of always knowing what to say, held his hand as she spoke, and as Remus nodded to her suggestion, someone walked in. Sirius Black. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, am I interrupting something? Because I can come back, it was just that I needed to be fitted for a waistcoat.” He shuffled from foot to foot as he spoke, and was prepared to dash out the room when Remus stopped him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, all done,” Remus said, grateful that it was an actual waistcoat this time, and not another Spencer jacket. “So, how’s filming going?” He didn’t usually strike up conversation with the actors, but he was in a great mood after being invited to Lily’s and knowing he didn't have to cook. His sudden spike in conversational abilities had nothing to do with the fact that Sirius was jaw-droppingly hot. No, no correlation at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. Alice, the other lead, can be a bit of a nightmare sometimes-” Here Remus cut him off with an agreeing laugh, and Sirius glanced up at him. “What, you’ve had to deal with her too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She came in here, absolutely insisting she wasn’t going to wear a corset. Her reason? She’s too much of a feminist. Honestly, I was seconds away from impaling her with my pinking shears. Actors interfering with the costumes when they have no idea on what dress was like in the past is one of my biggest pet peeves.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about actors breaking their waistcoats and needing you to fix them?” Sirius was grinning, but he looked almost concerned as he spoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ! It’s a Spencer jacket!” Remus was joking, but did consider throwing himself out of the window. It really wasn’t that hard to remember the distinction, and yet apparently none of the actors could figure out the difference. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does the difference really matter? They’re basically the same thing, right?” Remus was seconds away from impaling both himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sirius with the pinking shears, when he realised he was joking. A smirk lighting up his face, Sirius clicked his tongue. “Wow, you look ready to boil over there. You get really passionate about this whole thing, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I am paid to get passionate about it. It’s a meagre amount, but it’s enough to make me put up with actors like you, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>purposely </span>
  </em>
  <span>try to provoke me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I’m not that bad, am I?” Remus wanted to say that Sirius definitely wasn’t that bad, especially not to look at, but considered leaving some of his dignity intact, and instead shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Depends on who you ask. For me, you’ll be the death of me. For all those teens who idolise your characters, you’ll probably also be the death of them, but for different reasons.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>dream of me then?” Since this was definitely verging on flirting, he could feel it, and he was sure Sirius could too, he decided to go for it. Dignity be damned - it’s not like he had much dignity left anyway, after an embarrassing incident at college where he turned up to class in a unicorn onesie, and then realised it wasn’t even his class - he was going to flirt with Sirius Black. Well, he was going to test the waters, at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I dream of you every night. Usually I end up throttling you when you don’t distinguish between a waistcoat and Spencer jacket.” Sirius raised his eyebrow, and Remus was even more convinced he was flirting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Throttling? You look like a calm guy, I had no idea you were so kinky!” There was no chance he wasn’t flirting. Nobody - not even the strangest guy in his office - had that kind of conversation, unless they wanted to end up in bed with the other person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know what they say about assumptions. To make sure I don’t make the same mistake of assuming you’re someone you’re not, why don’t you tell me-” As Remus was about to finish, Lily strode into the room, clapping her hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Remus, you almost done? We’ve got some shots we want to get of Sirius, and you said it would only take half an hour to measure all this.” Lily, while incredibly helpful, had a habit of entering rooms at the most inopportune times, and this was one of the moments when Remus wished she’d waited five minutes before coming in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’ve just finished,” Sirius murmured, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but Remus was sure Sirius looked disappointed as he followed Lily out of the room. At the last second, he dashed back and pressed a piece of paper into Remus’ hand, then waved at him and sprinted out the room, a faint blush peppering his cheeks. Shoving it into his pocket, he picked up some pattern pieces and strode over to the sewing machine, determined to finish the day’s work before he got distracted by secret notes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was skim reading Wuthering Heights again - his copy had a tea spill on the cover, and almost every line was annotated with some kind of comment - when he remembered the note Sirius had given him. As he fished it out of his pocket, the bus slowed, and a couple more people clambered onto the already overflowing vehicle. The first thing he noticed was how beautiful Sirius’ handwriting was - and really, it looked like it could be an online font - and the second thing he noticed was that he’d given him his number. His real phone number, and then, like some cliched movie character, he’d written “Call me” underneath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Remus’ flat had grimy windows that he’d tried his best to scrub clean when they first moved in, to no avail, so now they always lived in a perpetual gloom due to sunlight not getting in, and mess everywhere. Skyscrapers made of old books, bills he had yet to pay, letters about school trips, shopping lists, and a million other things towered around the kitchen, and pavements of stains, from Mo’s artistic experiments and Lennie’s hair dye, decorated the city of junk. The wall by the door was adorned with marks where people had thrown open the door and the handle had smashed into the wall, and the space behind the stove was permanently covered in black soot after Juno had accidentally set something on fire when she forgot about the food she was frying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Generally when he first got home from work, Remus would chat to Mo for a while, as he always sat at the kitchen table doing homework, and then would start to cook. However, on the day when he got Sirius’ number, he barrelled into the flat, threw his coat down at the door, and dashed into his room, slamming the door shut. As his phone dialled Sirius’ number, he sank onto the floor and leant back against his bedpost. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phone call accepted by Sirius Black at 21:34 hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, so you finally decided to call me. I thought you were ignoring me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think some ignoring you would do your inflated ego some good. And besides, I only just got home.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This late? You really do work hard.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, with all the demanding actors I have to work with, you can see why I have to stay so late.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, sorry about last week. I didn’t really think people worked that hard on the costumes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know that was meant to be an apology, and it was only vaguely insulting, so I accept your apology, I guess?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You guess? What more must I do to make you forgive my sins, my dear? I’ve already walked to the ends of the Earth to prove my regret, and now you ask for more?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really, all you have to do is say sorry without insulting both me and my career, but we’ll move past that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, let’s. You said you’re at home, right? Do you live alone?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That definitely doesn’t sound like the kind of thing a serial killer asks before they murder their victim. But, no, I don’t live alone. So if you’re planning on storming my flat, remember that you’ve got to get past other people too.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Flat? That’s very English of you. So who do you live with in your </span>
  </em>
  <span>flat </span>
  <em>
    <span>then? Housemates?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Was that your attempt at my accent? You’re an actor, you should be able to do better. And I’m Welsh, not English.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My deepest apologies. But?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who do you live with?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Um, three other people.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not giving me much here. Do you live with serial killers, is that why you’re so sketchy about this?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ha. No, they’re not serial killers. Or kidnappers, or hackers, or robbers, or any kind of criminals. Well, except one.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Except one? Should I be concerned?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“One of my sis- um, one of the girls I live with sometimes gets a bit wild, and she’s accidentally - and it was actually an accident - committed arson. And she stole a bike, thinking it was hers. In her defence, she was pissed when she took it, and she gave it back the next day.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, so you live with an accidental thief. What about the others?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They’re just fine. Anyway, what about you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, so it’s noted that your living situation definitely isn’t something to bring up.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So far all you’ve done is avoid the questions by changing the subject or being vague. But it’s fine, we can talk about something else if you’d rather.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We have a perceptive one on our hands, eh? So, where do </span>
  </em>
  <span>you </span>
  <em>
    <span>live?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know the actor James Potter? He’s been in a few period dramas too - an adaptation of Little Women?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, I know who you mean. You live with him?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We share a house,and have done for five years now. He’s my brother. Well, technically he’s not, but in our minds we’re related. As soon as we could afford it, we moved in together.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, you live with siblings too then? Shit, I meant-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s fine, an accidental slip doesn’t mean you now have to talk about it. The fact I know you live with one of your siblings doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Thanks. This probably seems bloody weird, refusing to speak about who I live with, but I swear there’s a reason, and it’s not dodgy. I just...it’s not a fun topic.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I get it, trust me. My home life when I was younger was shit.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, shit, I’m sorry. I gotta say, I’m surprised.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Surprised about my home life being shit?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, surprised about you. You kind of seemed like a wanker, and then when I lost my shit on you last week, I thought you’d hate me. And yet here I am, calling the world famous Sirius Black, and not only does he not hate me, but he’s also not a wanker.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, you thought I was a wanker?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, definitely. My first day, I asked where the costume department was, and you gave me the wrong directions!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s because I’m an idiot, not because I’m a wanker. Wow, I feel so weird saying wanker. It’s such a British word.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, I still use slang from back home.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When did you move to New York, and why? I’m not saying it’s a bad place or anything, but why leave your home to come here?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I moved here at the beginning of Uni, or College, as you would say. And then Lily offered me a job when she started the company, I took it, and I’ve been working there for the past three years. So I just stayed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you like it here?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean, it’s pretty expensive. More so than where I used to live, at least. But I get a good wage, and I’m happy. I don’t really get out much, but that’s got nothing to do with New York, just me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t get out much? We should change that. I can show you the sights of the city, if you’d like.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You do realise I’ve lived here for six years, right? I know the sights, I’m just not too taken with them.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And there I was, thinking I was smooth and that I’d come up with the perfect pickup line.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If it means that much to you, come up with a better line.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t. You’ve hurt my heart with your comments and rebuttals, and now I’ll never be the same again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jesus, you’re dramatic.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My job </span>
  </em>
  <span>is </span>
  <em>
    <span>in the dramatic arts.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, fuck off. Speaking of, isn’t this a bit...odd for you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Explain?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, you’re in the dramatic arts, as you just said. Isn’t it weird for an actor to be speaking to a lowly peasant like me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, Remus, you’re not a lowly peasant. You’re probably a very high-class peasant.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I feel like I should let you know that high-class people weren’t peasants, because they...well, they were in a high class. It’s kind of in the name.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shhhhh. I’m saying you’d make a great peasant.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve actually managed to make it worse. Thank you so much for that insult there. I’d make a great peasant. Wow.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just mean, like, you have peasant vibes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop talking.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s probably best. But, no, it’s not weird. You’re surprisingly funny, and fun to talk to.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you’re surprisingly insulting. But, I guess, you’re funny too.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You sound so upset to have to compliment me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m just of the opinion that your ego doesn’t need any more expanding, that’s all.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say what you like, but I’m going to be forever broken because of you. You broke my heart, Remus, and you-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, please be quiet. But you’re sure this isn’t weird? You wouldn’t rather go drink expensive wine on a cruise ship with Keira Knightley?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I wouldn’t. Accept it, Remus, you’re pleasant company. I know you can’t usually take a compliment, but accept mine. Take my compliment, take it!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What makes you think I can’t take a compliment?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re very pretty, and incredibly smart.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, really, I’m not that-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, was that you not accepting a compliment?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, fuck off. I can accept compliments, but only from people who don’t compliment me just to prove a point.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Touché. Also, why Keira Knightley?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I really like her version of Pride and Prejudice.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh my God, you’re such a nerd.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There we go with the insults again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I meant it in a nice way. Like, you’re a nerd, you cutie pie.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cutie pie?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Listen, it was the first thing I could think of. The point still stands.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I guess I can accept it, as it’s only vaguely weird. But, I’ve got to go now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This doesn’t have anything to do with me calling you a cutie pie, does it?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, it’s just that the people I live with need me. In fact, they’ve been shouting my name for the past five minutes and they’re now banging pots and pans together while singing my name.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What kind of people do you live with?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“People who’ll probably set the place on fire again if I don’t go to them now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Again?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“See you tomorrow, Sirius!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phone call disconnected at 22:57 hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guys, what the fuck?” Remus loved his siblings, really he did, and he loved looking after them, but sometimes they could be extremely trying. And as they ran around the kitchen singing his name, each with a pot in their hands that they were banging with spoons, and Mo tap danced, Remus decided that there was no time they were more trying than when he was just attempting to do something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were on the phone for an hour and a half, and we wanted food,” Lennie said, staring straight up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn’t have cooked?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who were you on the phone to? You were laughing pretty hard,” Juno inquired, her eyes lighting up at the chance for gossip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just someone from work, nothing important.” Remus was lying, and he knew they could tell, but still he continued to lie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That didn’t sound like a work call to me.” Lennie wouldn’t be satiated until Remus gave them a straight answer - well, as straight as he could be when thinking about Sirius - but it was Mo who he was worried about. Lennie was definitely the most threatening - Remus supposed he should work on her being slightly less aggressive - but Mo was the most perceptive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t say it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>for </span>
  </em>
  <span>work, he said it was someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>from </span>
  </em>
  <span>work. So, it’s someone he met at work that he’s talking to in a non professional context.” Mo grinned up at him, the picture of innocence, and Juno and Lennie pounced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who is he? When are you going on a date?” Juno cried, and Lennie ran into his room, yanking open the closet door. Several boxes toppled out from the cupboard, and one split open, spilling socks all over the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have any clothes for a date. Jesus, you really do dress like an old person, don’t you. What’s with all the - oh no. I’ve reached all his hipster clothes. Beanies, so many beanies!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lennie, get out of my bloody cupboard!” All thought of food was forgotten as the other two ran in and started trying on all his beanies, laughing at his scarves and shrieking as they tossed his many button up shirts on his bed. His hipster phase was technically going on - but really, he couldn’t be blamed for liking beanies, as they were so comfortable - but it was at its peak before he started wearing contacts, and wore hipster frames instead. Yes, in college he went skateboarding almost every weekend, but Lily came with him and insisted on wearing converse and beanies every time, just like him. He wasn’t the only one who went through an embarrassing hipster phase - it was just that his was still taking place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look what I found, guys,” Mo murmured, a laugh in his voice, and Remus stared at what was in his hands, knowing he’d never hear the end of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A yellow ukulele, with hand painted flowers? Really, Re?” Lennie snatched it away from Mo as Juno spoke, and held it out to Remus, looking deceptively serious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your favourite song to play? Is it Riptide?” Lennie piped up, and the three shrieked with laughter as Remus sank onto his bed. There was only one thing stopping him from jumping out the window, and it was that tomorrow he’d get to see Sirius. Not that he wanted to see him in any context outside of friendship, because that would be incredibly inappropriate for someone he met at work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he definitely didn’t go to sleep thinking of Sirius’ smile, or the fact he gave Remus his number and then spent over an hour on the phone to him. Obviously not. Because that would be ridiculous. Remus definitely didn’t fancy the famous actor he worked with, because that would be a recipe for disaster. And Remus didn’t like disasters, or Sirius Black. Right?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you want to come chat to me on tumblr (and please do, I'm very lonely, lol) then my username is lilylemon12, and the link is:<br/>https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lilylemon12</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More long phone calls (because I like writing them and I'm self indulgent), and some Lily and Remus love (because writing their friendship is my second favourite thing, and again, I'm self indulgent).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was three weeks after Remus had first called Sirius, and they’d talked on the phone for at least an hour each day since. The regularity of their evening conversations paired with the comforting lull of Sirius’ voice and pointless questions - they’d included queries like what the best type of pencil was, what the most disappointing type of alien would be, and what the best type of pasta shape was - was the only thing Remus looked forward to, and the hours where he lent against his bed and mindlessly talked to Sirius was the only time when he felt his jaw relax; it was the only time in the day when he wasn’t panicking over college fees or whether they’d shut the electricity off this month, the brief period of respite when his mind wandered away from designs of pattern pieces, and he paused worrying that he was fucking up his siblings in ways he couldn’t imagine. As everything got worse around him, Sirius was the only thing keeping Remus some form of sane - although arguments about whether farfalle or penne is better was nowhere near his definition of sane. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And things definitely were getting worse. Lennie was denied yet another scholarship she was aiming for - and there was only one more option left, which panicked everyone - and the rent had gone up, yet again. Their landlord was, as Remus affectionately put it, a manipulative, money-grabbing, hope-stealing, help-denying piece of shit. About a year after they’d all first moved into the flat, the landlord had put the rent up, and Remus was twenty quid short for that month. Rather than let him give the money a few days later, the landlord had insisted the money all be given then, and had threatened Remus with eviction while Mo, only nine years old, had stood outside the apartment crying. Since then, Remus had vowed to move out as soon as he had enough money; unfortunately, his balance was depleting, each month, rather than enlarging, as he’d thought it would do. Remus was slowly getting more and more stressed, and each day brought a new pair of stays to sew or another blouse cuff to embroider; the assistant seamstress had quit a week earlier and since no replacement had been hired yet, Remus was working with only two other people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as the anniversary of their parents’ deaths approached, Juno spent more time holed up in her and Lennie’s shared room, crying and muffling the sounds with the blaring noise of Friends reruns, while Lennie escaped to car parks to drink with friends, and creep into the flat at midnight, glancing to see if any of the doors had slivers of light shooting out from underneath the cracks. Mo rummaged through Remus’ old photo albums, trying to find evidence that he remembered anything other than the stories other people told him of their parents, and Remus lent him the bottle of his mother’s half used perfume so that Mo could remember her smell. Meanwhile, Remus threw himself into editing the bad-quality manuscripts that he wrote in college, dealing with his grief the best way he knew how: ignoring it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day of the anniversary itself went as it had every year before, and as it would every year afterwards; in the morning they ate in silence, staring into their cereal bowls as if they’d find answers to impossible questions floating in the milk amongst the cornflakes, and that particular morning, Juno’s bright purple hair was the only shred of colour in a monochrome atmosphere, their black clothes and black moods creating a perfect canvas for their blue moods. They visited a Church similar to the one they’d attended in Wales when younger, and knelt in front of the statue of Virgin Mary to pray, silent tears coursing down their faces. On the journey back they stopped at McDonalds, their parents’ favourite place to eat - although of course, if asked by anyone, they’d say their favourite was Pizza Express - and bought fries to share. Then, in a tradition that would be strange to anyone but them, they wrote their parents’ full names on the back of the paper fries bag, the ink pen smudging slightly on spots of grease, and doodled all around the names. The bag, previously only decorated with the yellow McDonald’s logo, was now covered in small hearts, scrawls of messages, and, in the middle of the bag just underneath the names, it read “We Love You”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Remus said, standing up in the field they’d dedicated to their parents - as their graves were in England - and slapping his thighs. “Ma and Da. Four years now since you’ve passed, eh? We miss you so much, all of us do. I mean, the three of them are getting along nicely, and though I doubt myself sometimes, I think I’m doing an okay job myself. I like to think you’re pretty proud of us, wherever you are. And I hope you’re happy, and well. I hope that wherever it is, you’re good, and there are people there with you, because none of us are ready to join you quite yet. But we love you, and we miss you everyday. No matter what happens, nobody will ever replace you, and you’ll always be in our memories. Love you.” He was full on crying by the end, as he was every year, and Juno patted his shoulder, then hoisted herself up for her turn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Ma and Da,” she began, “How are you? We’re good, as Remus said. He’s looking after us just fine, don’t you worry. Well, I know you’ll worry anyway, but you shouldn’t. He’s doing a great job.” She broke off to spin round and shoot him a smile, then faced back up to the sky. “I’m finishing Uni this year. Or college, since we </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the US. After my degree I’m moving out, and I’m getting a job in a museum. It’s not great pay, and it looks like a lot of hard work, but I’m gonna try really hard, and maybe one day I can curate my own collections. Thanks for, you know, encouraging me for all those years. I’m not an artist, as such, but I’m still doing what I love, and I wouldn’t be without you. And, just like Remus said before, we love you, so, so much. Juno.” She always signed off on things, whether it was prayers, speaking to their parents, or post-it notes on the fridge saying they needed to buy more milk. Remus supposed it was her making her mark on the world and trying to make sure she’d be remembered. Lennie stepped forwards as Juno sat back down on the grass, and shuffled from one foot to the other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a while. You’re probably not </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>pleased with me at the moment, with the hair and the drinking, and then me almost getting suspended.” Remus wanted to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was almost suspended, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>she didn’t tell him, but they didn’t interrupt the ritual under any circumstances. “I should be making you prouder, I know, but it’s hard. I want to be good, like Juno and Remus, and even like Mo, though I guess there’s time for him to fuck up like me. It’s just - God, I can’t explain it. It’s like I’m lost, and it’s not your fault for dying, because who blames their parents’ deaths for them being the family disappointment? But you died, and we moved to the bloody US of fucking A, and everything’s so fucking hard! I can’t deal with it all, all the looks and judgement and me knowing that at the end of the day, I’m the family fuck up. If you look at the four of us in a line-up, nine out of ten people would point at me if asked to choose the failure. I’m sorry. Like the other two said, I love you both, I really do. I’m sorry I’m not making you proud.” As Lennie sat down, Remus put his arm around her and pulled her in, ruffling her hair and kissing the top of her head until she hugged him back. Then Mo drew his jacket tighter around his body, as if trying to keep the worries out along with the cold, and stepped forward to the same spot the past three had stood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Ma and Da. Well, afternoon, really. I love you guys. Don’t think I can say it, because it’s not like I really know you. I don’t know you like a child should. I miss you, of course, but I don’t remember you. It’s like a hole, and it’s empty, but I can’t ever remember it properly being filled. But I love you, of course I do. And Remus and Juno are telling me all about you, so I know what it was like when we still lived with you two. And it sounds great. I may not remember moments, but I remember the feelings, and they were always happy. So, thanks for always making me smile, even if I don’t recall it.” Mo sank onto the ground, nestled somewhere between Juno’s left leg, Remus’ right arm, and Lennie’s heavy jacket that smothered them all. Then, when they were all interlinked, limbs weaving into each other to create their tapestry - messy, yes, and broken, definitely, but some kind of colourful tapestry nonetheless - Remus whipped out his lighter and burned the paper packet with all their messages on, watching the flame became just a glowing dot as the tears blurred his eyes too much to distinguish a proper shape. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was when they were gathered round the table, still in their misery-filled silence, when Remus decided to broach the subject. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lennie, Mo, you can talk to us. About anything. Whether it’s feelings, or suspensions...which would you like to start with?” There was a pause, where Lennie stared down at the table and Mo resolutely fixed his glance on something outside the window, both of their faces tinged with guilt. After Remus coughed, and the silence continued, he clapped. “Jesus, guys, why are you so silent? Who died?” Another lengthy silence followed, and then a stifled noise came from Juno’s head resting on the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rem, could you be any thicker?” Lennie patted Juno’s back as she curled over, giggling escaping from her tiny body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Lennie. Could you explain why you’ve been warned about suspension?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because the school’s fucking ridiculous, that’s why! The teacher slagged Mo off, and when I defended him, she reported me to the Head.” Suddenly Remus felt all anger at Lennie evaporate - well, not all of it, but the majority - and he whipped towards Mo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The teacher’s slagging you off? Why? What happened? Which teacher? Jesus, I’m going to send her to her fucking grave. How dare anyone - what did you do?” Juno jumped in before Mo could speak, cutting Remus off from what would have been a year-long tirade, while Lennie looked shocked that Juno was finally speaking and not just rolling around from giggles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was wearing that nail polish Lily gave you - black, glittery, oh okay, you know which one I’m talking about. I’m getting to it, I’m getting to it. Patience, Lennie. Yes, right, nail polish. Oh, what happened next? Ah, then Mo-” Mo slammed his hand down on the table, immediately quieting Remus’ incessant mumble of “Anyone touches my boy”, and stopping Juno’s rambling story that was going nowhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“First off, I wasn’t planning on doing or saying anything. But Lennie got involved - more involved than necessary -” Here he shot Lennie a glare scarier than anything Remus could muster up, and fuck if the twelve year old wasn’t intimidating when he wanted to be. “And she also told Juno, apparently. Although neither of them actually seems to know the whole story. I was in class, and this teacher isn’t known for being the...kindest. She picked on my nails, asked me to stay after class, and then Lennie walked past and jumped in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did she notice your nails? They’re not obvious, at all.” Remus narrowed his eyes at him, clicking his fingers when Mo avoided his gaze. “Don’t start bloody lying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some of the other kids had mentioned it, drew her attention to it.” Mo abruptly stood up, pushing his chair under the table. “Please. It wasn’t that bad, and Lennie wasn’t suspended, so all’s well that ends well.” He stalked off to his room, although the partition where he slept couldn’t be called a bedroom. When they’d first moved into the two bedroom flat, Remus had taken one bedroom - only large enough to fit a bed and small cupboard that doubled up as a bookcase - and Lennie and Juno had shared the other one. In a fit of creativity, Remus had hung up a shower curtain rail halfway through the “living area” - an extension to the kitchen, which was nothing like the “open, family-friendly space” it had been marketed as - and now Mo slept behind the curtain that parted the room, a meagre excuse for the bedroom. Remus knew that if Mo’s room had a door, he would have slammed it, but as it was he yanked the curtain back so hard the rail almost fell off the ceiling. In the silence that followed, Juno slinked off to her room, and Remus gripped Lennie’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the family fuck up, Len.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was speaking to Ma and Da, not you. I’m going to bed.” She flounced off too, leaving Remus alone at the table, wondering what it was he did wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After half an hour of sitting in his room, trying to design costumes but having no ideas due to the storm of thoughts currently drowning him, Remus finally picked up his phone and dialled Sirius’ number. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phone call accepted by Sirius Black at 18:32 hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey, you’re early. You usually call me way later.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wasn’t in work today.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, no, you sick? Can’t be easy, having to skip a day during the Christmas special season.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, not sick.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, are you on a holiday or something?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No holiday either.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You okay? You sound pretty down.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m...yeah, I’m not great. Long day.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you….d’you want to talk about it?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t, I - no. It’s fine. What about you, how was your day?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can trust me, you know? I mean, we’ve only been chatting a few weeks, but if there’s something on your mind - and I can tell there is…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know, I just...I don’t want to. It’s fine, really.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anyone who says that they’re fine is never actually fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t say I was fine, I said the situation was. I don’t tend to refer to myself as “it”. But, why don’t we move on now?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Real subtle, Lupin. Fine, if you won’t talk to me, at least talk to Lily. I know you guys are mates, and you gotta talk about your feelings, you know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Forget actor, you should have become a guidance counsellor.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nah, they’re usually shit at it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, I know. It’s why you’d be suited to the job.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wow, Remus, way to break my heart. For your information, I’d have been a great guidance counsellor. All the kids would love me, and I’d give the best advice. All their problems would vanish as soon as they entered my office, I’d be that good.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Would you now? Maybe you should consider a career change, then.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you just saying that so you don’t have to deal with me breaking all my costumes anymore?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, definitely. It’s infuriating. How many did you break today? Is there a pile of ripped garments on my desk, waiting for my return tomorrow?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, you’re coming back tomorrow? It’ll be nice to see that handsome face again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t think you’re getting off the hook just by flattering me. I noticed how you didn’t answer the question.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Many people would pay to be able to touch clothes I’ve worn.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nah, it’s overrated. The only reason I’m still working is James. Now that’s one guy I’d pay to touch the clothes of.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lupin, did you really slight me like that? First doubting my guidance counsellor abilities, now going for James over me? I’m offended.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, the point was to offend you, so I’m glad I achieved my ambitions.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And here I thought we were friends. Now, Lupin, I’ve got to go, but I’ll be looking for that sparkling smile tomorrow.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will I still be smiling once I see all your costumes I’ll need to fix?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Probably not, so swing by the make-up department </span>
  </em>
  <span>before </span>
  <em>
    <span>you go to your office.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Noted. Bye, Sirius.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bye, love!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Call ended at 19:56 hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t lost on Remus that Sirius’ last word on the call was love - in reference to him! - and that he’d called him handsome. Yes, it was so that he could get out of trouble, but if Remus ignored the motivations, it was almost romantic. Not that he wanted it to be romantic, because a costumer doesn’t date an actor. Especially not a straight one, who called him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Remus now hated the word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friend. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No romance there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Remus drifted off thinking of Sirius’ laughing voice calling him “Lupin” and flattering him, imagining him calling him </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to his face, holding his hand and linking their fingers together, planting a kiss to his cheek in a display of love which would be common for them. The thoughts followed him into his dreams, the idea of Sirius loving him wrapping around him like a child’s comfort blanket, and when he woke up he couldn’t get the picture of Sirius’s hand against his out of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And Lils, I can’t win with them. Lennie thinks she’s the family fuck up, and whenever I’ve tried to talk to her, she blanks me or just leaves. Mo won’t let me get involved with anything in his life, and Juno...well, actually, Juno’s fine at the moment.” It was two weeks after the memorial, and Remus had finally found the time to snuggle up on Lily’s armchair, her radio blasting ABBA, and talk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, at least Juno’s fine. And as for Mo, you know he’s always been a quiet kid. Trying to force things out of him is just gonna send him further away from you, not bring him closer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think I should just ignore whatever’s going on in his life?” Lily took another sip of her hot chocolate, her stern look contrasted with the cream settling on her upper lip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know that’s not what I think. You’ve got to make it clear that you trust him to speak to you when he’s ready, and then he’ll do that. Think about it, if I’d tried to force something out of you, would you willingly tell me? Or would you rather tell me if you knew I trusted you? He’s going to think the reason you’re pushing him is because you don’t believe he’s handling things, when in fact you’re just caring.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, hypocrite, you force things out of me all the time. But, I guess I see your point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I solve all your problems, Remus, I don’t know why you’re surprised I helped here, too.” She grinned at him, and he grudgingly returned her fist bump, then accepted another biscuit. Lily’s flat was far nicer than Remus’ - although she didn’t have three other people creating mess, and she only had to pay for enough space for one person, not four - and she always had English food in the cupboards. They’d grown up together, practically siblings, and they’d taken the leap and crossed the ocean hand in hand, adjusting to American accents and mourning the loss of Cadbury’s - specifically Freddo Frogs, as they couldn’t compare inflation to how the price of a single Freddo had gone up -, Poundland, and Party Rings, until they realised they didn’t need to mourn them and could just buy them online. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually, there’s another problem you could solve for me, oh Lily-genius.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spill the beans, Watson.” She’d started calling him Watson when they were eight and she went through her Sherlock Holmes phase - having the middle name Jon was apparently enough to qualify as the sidekick - and he, being disgruntled at not being the head detective, had called her Adler. She actually enjoyed the name, claiming that Irene was as feminist as Conan-Doyle could write her, and, if anyone got her drunk, would start shouting about how modern adaptations screwed her over by having her only as the romantic interest, as opposed to a fully developed character. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you know Sirius? Yeah, that one. He slipped me his phone number the other day-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He did what? Lesu Grist, Watson, tell me all!” When Lily was shocked, or drunk, she tended to speak in some butchered version of English, slipping back into a far more Welsh accent with slang from both Welsh and Hindi - as her parents both spoke Hindi, and she grew up with expressions rolling off her tongue in all three of the languages - and right now her accent was so thick that Remus felt they were eleven again, sitting on the concrete street and trying to reduce their accents so they sounded more like the other children at their school. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He slipped his number into my hand, and we’ve been calling every evening, sometimes for hours. And I really, really like talking to him. He’s comforting, he is. And, I think there’s a chance I’m falling for him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You say it like a question. Ah, Remus, take your young love and grasp it! Swim in the adoration!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you slip vodka into your hot chocolate, or something?” He peered at her over his mug, taking in her flushed cheeks, but noting the absence of her tapping foot, a long gone habit that only emerged when she’d had a few glasses. “No, you’re not drunk. Adler, you’re keeping a secret from me. Time for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to spill those bloody beans!” The flush crept further up her cheeks, and she pulled the blanket over her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never believe who asked me out!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess, James? Though that’s a given, as he never leaves you alone for longer than a week. Lovely lad, but very persistent. So, who’s the new one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No new one. Just James, James, James. I thought he was an irritating wanker, but I can’t stop blushing whenever I look at him. My heart flutters, and I think about him and just smile!” She stuffed another Party Ring in her mouth, wriggling on the sofa until she was hanging off the chair, her legs propped up on the cushions and her head resting on the floor. “Join me, Watson.” He twisted until he was mirroring her, poking her toe with his socked foot. The way they sat was their thinking position, something they’d done since they were younger and Lily believed that hanging upside down would shake the ideas in their brains around so they could find solutions to problems easier. They didn’t believe that once they were in Secondary School, but they still did it anyway, the tradition comforting as opposed to strange. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, did you accept him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know what to do, so I just flicked my hair and continued my conversation with Alice. It’s what I’ve done a hundred times before, but I didn’t like him then. The truth is, I do now, and I don’t know why.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love’s illogical, Lils. You still love Blue - sorry, Petunia - and she hurt you when she was younger. I love you, and you’re a nosy twat. Paths intertwine, and we can’t help it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like that. Our lives are kind of paths, if you think about it. And I guess, finally, James’ path has merged with mine, rather than just running alongside it. He’s changed, you know.” When James had first met Lily and Remus, he’d jokingly done a Welsh accent - a surprisingly good impression - and Lily had immediately decided she would never like him. They’d both been mocked for their accents, and although James had backpedalled and apologised, Lily had already made up her mind about him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell him how you feel. It’s guaranteed he likes you too - everyone knows he’s head over heels for you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got to tell Sirius, then.” Remus sat up so fast that he almost fell backwards off the chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell Sirius? You’ve had some crazy schemes before, but this is just a bad idea. He’s straight, for one-” Lily laughed at that, grabbing Remus’ arm to haul herself up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Black, straight? Yeah, and I’m a fecking butterfly, am I? That boy is gay as they come.” Remus hit her arm repeatedly, gesturing for more information. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?” Each word was punctuated with a slap on Lily’s arm, and a mini hop in his chair. “This was never information you thought would be useful?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t know you liked him, did I?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe if you’d given me the gossip sooner, I would have been able to say, but you didn’t. Anyway, I’ve told you about my embarrassing feelings for James, so tell me about Sirius.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s just, like, warm. Whenever I speak to him on the phone, it’s like when we’d go running in the cold and then go back to yours and have warm bubble baths. He’s this protection from the world, just for a little bit. I kinda liked him before, when he used to come in for fittings and joke around. He was just more pleasant to work with than some of the other actors. But since he gave me his number, I’ve realised it.” Lily grabbed his hand suddenly, pulling it between her two hands and onto her chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Watson! I’ve never heard you speak like that about anyone. Well, except your parents.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.” He pushed himself closer to her, worming his other hand between hers so they were gripping to each other. “Sometimes I think, would they be disappointed? Not in </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because I know they’d love me whatever, and they said as much when I came out.” Remus told his parents he was bisexual one morning, just before he left the house for school, and when he came back, his mother had baked a cake for him. “But about my life, the way I’ve settled. I love my job, and it’s secure, safe. But I also loved writing.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t be disappointed, they’d be proud, just like me. You’re making something of yourself, working hard, caring for three unappreciative little shits. There are so many choices you could have made, and maybe yours were unconventional, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>choices, Watson, not anyone else's.” Lily threw herself in his lap, kissing both his cheeks and ruffling her hair as she spoke. He felt himself smile, despite the dark mood that had haunted him like his own personal ghost, and when she jumped up to dance to the Annie Lennox song that was now blasting from her vintage orange radio, he let her pull him up. The rest of the evening was spent spinning around, jumping onto the armchair, and screaming Beatles lyrics inbetween shovelling even more Party Rings into their mouths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Remus was hunched over the sewing machine, trying not to throw it out the window, when Sirius walked in, shocking him with a dazzling laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you threatening the sewing machine?” He asked, once Remus had pushed away the fabric. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t count as threatening if it’s under your breath. And, um, hey.” Remus hated the awkward little wave he gave, but Sirius stepped forwards anyway. “Here to pick up a costume?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, just wanted to see you.” Clearly, Sirius didn’t know how Earth shattering these remarks were, if he just threw them around that carelessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t keep yourself away, huh? How’s filming going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s talk about anything but filming. How’s the sewing-thing going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s also not discuss these disasters of costumes. I can’t quite get the right aesthetic, and every mock-up I make is just slightly off. Also, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sewing-thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Remus smiled, moving his arms so they were no longer crossed in front of his chest, and were instead holding him against the desk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t remember the word, okay? So, how’s Lily? You went to see her, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you came here to talk about me, not Lily,” Remus teased, grinning when he saw that Sirius looked bashful. “I’m joking, don’t worry. She’s good, but, erm, how did you know I saw her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you didn’t call me last night, so I assumed you were busy. And today you look way happier, like you’ve had some of the weight lifted off you. I presumed you’d spent time with Lily and told her about whatever was bothering you.” Remus thought of Sirius waiting to call him, and grinned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you miss me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did. I like our talks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm, me too. So, did you do anything last night, or were you just yearning for me and my call?” Remus took a step towards Sirius, his hands trying to pat down his curls, which he was sure were too frizzy to be saved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, all I did was yearn. My evening was dark without you, the light of my life,” Sirius murmured, taking a step closer so Remus could hear his whisper. “Honestly, though, I did miss our call. It’s a nice tradition.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In person discussions are almost better though, don’t you think?” Remus took another step closer, and then Sirius was glancing towards his lips - he was definitely looking at his lips, and that was something that’s both very </span>
  <em>
    <span>not straight </span>
  </em>
  <span>and almost, maybe, possibly, flirting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Definitely better in person, because then I can hear you </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>see that pretty, pretty face.” Remus would almost believe Sirius was joking - though they were at such a close proximity it seemed like a weird time to joke about it, if he didn’t like him - except that his voice was low, not light, like how it usually was when he joked around, and his tone didn’t have a hint of laughter in it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as Remus was about to take another step towards Sirius, who was still focused on Remus’ lips, Lily performed her skill or barging in at the moment when she was least wanted, and grinned at the two, who had jumped apart as the door was flung open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, good, you’re both already here. Ready for the costume sketches?” Remus dug around in his bag for a notebook, swearing to himself that he’d concentrate in the rest of the meeting, and pulled up the designs on his computer, never looking at Sirius. He wasn’t going to think of him at all in the half hour, not even sneak glances at him; he was going to be completely professional. Even if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>almost kissed. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments? Wanted.<br/>My tumblr? lilylemon12<br/>Hotel? Trivago.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More ruined chances, shitty gay jokes, and far too many descriptions of stars, because I also was a space kid.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spencer jacket 4</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, that’s it then. Either of you two have any questions?” Lily asked, heaving herself up from Remus’ chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is design one or two better, for the cliff scene? Because two has the nice shape on the lapels of the jacket, and it’s generally just got a better aesthetic, but the aesthetic comes at a price, and the price is four more hours of work than design one. But then the colours, as well. I can’t choose.” Remus gestured to his papers as he spoke, trying to ignore Sirius’ amused grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can’t choose, you’re bloody bisexual!” Lily laughed, but looking at Remus’ unimpressed face, straightened her top and forced her face into a neutral position. “Sorry, sorry, act professional, and all that shit. Um, do the first design, but can you add the lush buttons from design two onto it?” Remus just nodded at her request, staring at Sirius, who was fiddling with the hairbands on his wrists, and seemed to be having an internal argument with himself. As soon as Lily walked out, he flicked his head up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re bi?” There was such shock on his face that Remus suddenly worried Sirius was biphobic and now hated him because of his sexuality. To be fair, he didn’t want to date an exclusionist, but it would still hurt if Sirius suddenly pushed him away now, given how head over heels he was. Still, he nodded, and then busied himself with unstacking and re-filing a pile of papers so he didn’t have to look at Sirius. “Oh. Cool cool cool, yeah, cool. That’s, um, great, isn’t it? Right, I have, uh, a shoot to, erm, shoot, so I better go.” And with that response, which would have been more coherent if he had tried to speak Flemish while being put under anesthetic - Remus had once been under anaesthetic, and Lily often brought up the ridiculous things he said while drugged out of his mind for a foot operation - Sirius waved, and dashed out the room, tripping over his own leg in his haste. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck was that?” Carmen, an unaging Cuban woman with a passion for French Fancies, who seemed to have been in the costume industry since the beginning of time, stood at the door of the adjoining room, staring at where Sirius had hurtled out from. She’d worked on Broadway before starting as head costumer at Lily’s production company - in all honesty, Remus still hadn’t figured out why a woman with so many contacts and awards to her name would ever join a foreign student’s start-up, one which initially seemed doomed to fail, as Lily had no experience running a company - and before that, she’d worked at the V&amp;A museum, curating garments. She constantly swore that in all her time working in costumes, she’d never met someone as dedicated as Remus - but then after the compliment, she’d always murmur that she’d never met someone as weird either, so he wasn’t sure that she entirely liked him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not really sure, to be honest.” Remus muttered, and felt only slightly offended when Carmen threw back her head and laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well, it’s been tedious around here recently. At least this confusion will bring some fun drama.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fun for you maybe, Carmen, but not for me.” She just tutted at him, then gathered some sparkling fabrics in her arms - fabrics which were too ugly to ever justify using - and flounced out, looking thoroughly pleased at the prospect of the costuming department basically becoming the set of a new reality TV show. Remus, however, wasn’t so pleased. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Remus stepped inside the flat, the first thing he noticed was that the stove was on fire, and that although there wasn’t smoke billowing through the room - Remys was glad he opened the window before he left for work that morning - the fire was definitely too large to be safe. The second thing was that Mo was sitting on the table cross-legged, papers gathered around him like it had snowed spreadsheets, watching Lennie and Juno chase each other around the kitchen, screaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bitch, come one step closer and your gravestone will say you were strangled to death, and not in the kinky way!” Juno was the one screaming when Remus walked in, but Lennie threw a trainer against the wall and screamed wordlessly, while Mo noticed Remus standing in the doorway and shot him a calm wave, smiling as if the flat wasn’t literally burning down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You bring that curtain anywhere near my neck and Remus coming home won’t even be a worry for you, because he’s gonna be the one saving your fucking life!” Mo hopped off the table, gently tapped Lennie on the shoulder, jumping back when she whipped round, ready to slap him. “Oh, Jesus fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Remus began, arching his palms and glaring at the three of them. “You were cooking, and then Lennie distracted you, and while you were throwing shoes at each other and screaming threats, you set the place on fire?” Juno slowly nodded. “And Lennie, you threatened your sister while she was cooking, which was a terrible idea anyway, and tried to rip the curtain rail down so you, and I quote, ‘had a non-fatal but damaging weapon’. Yes?” Lennie hummed a yes, and didn’t raise her eyes from her lap. “And Mo, you watched as they tried to strangle each other, and didn’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the flames that were consuming the flat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The flames absorbed the flat in the same way that the darkness will eventually absorb us all,” Mo muttered, still looking scarily calm, considering the odour of smoke hung over them all. . </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have time to unpack that weird-ass statement, but Iesu Grist, why? Why was the flat on fire, why were you trying to pull down the curtain-rail, why were you arguing </span>
  <em>
    <span>again, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Good Lord, why was anyone letting Juno near the fucking stove?” He surveyed them again, each of them meeting his eyes, but looking incredibly ashamed. Finally, Juno answered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>bready </span>
  </em>
  <span>for this? Basically, I popped in to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>rye </span>
  </em>
  <span>to-” Lennie hit the table with her closed fist, rattling the glasses that sat out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She kept making those fucking awful puns. She just. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kept. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Going.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And so you decided to chase her with a curtain rail and a stiletto?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I beat her at her own game.” She turned towards Juno, raising her eyebrows. “If she likes bread so much, she shouldn’t mind being given some.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She threw a loaf of bread at my head!” Juno stood up, pushing her chair back, and pointed straight at Lennie. Remus, who had been deathly silent throughout the entire exchange, suddenly sank his head onto the table, shoulders shaking from silent laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn't be encouraging this, but you deserved it, Juno. You could say you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kneaded </span>
  </em>
  <span>to learn your lesson.” All three of them groaned, and Remus stuck two fingers up at them as he left the room. “All of you are cleaning the bloody stove. Get rid of </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the soot.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Remus closed the door, he dropped onto the bed - he was sure he felt so heavy because of the weight of the worry he’d just been given - and was about to aimlessly doodle and work himself up into a fit of panic, before he remembered Sirius. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phone call accepted by Sirius Black at 21:34 hours</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Talk to me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey Sirius, how are you, what’s going on with you, are you all good?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh shut up, Sirius.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you okay? You sound pretty stressed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My flat was on fire. No, no - it’s fine, don’t worry.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you have somewhere to stay? You can spend the night with me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s fit to sleep in, it was just the kitchen. But we’re going to have to paint over the wall, or the landlord will kill me, and I don’t have the time. Plus, have you seen the price of paint?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, play some music one Saturday and make a thing of it. Instagrammers love a good redecorating spree.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not some rich, handsome, entitled Instagrammer, and I don’t have enough time to be bloody frolicking around with paint. I have work, and cleaning, and shopping, and budgeting, and cooking, and caring for the others, and my social life - not that I’ve actually had one for years - and now I’ve got the added stress of a smal fucking fire in my home!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You </span>
  </em>
  <span>really</span>
  <em>
    <span> don’t sound okay.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It - it doesn’t matter.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You live less than fifteen minutes from the all night coffee-shop, right? The one with the armchairs.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m slightly concerned that you know where I live when you’ve never been to my flat.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah, I love how you say flat. It just sounds so-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say it sounds English and you’ll wake up on a lilo in the middle of the ocean. Also, why </span>
  </em>
  <span>do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you know where I live?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ask fewer questions, Lupin. I’ll see you at the coffee shop in twenty minutes, yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, you’ll-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Call ended by Sirius Black at 22:01 hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Remus only sat on his bed for a moment, too shocked to actually move and get ready to go - although he wasn’t sure if he was actually going. After all, his siblings needed help cleaning the mess from the fire and chase, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>have work to do. He contemplated texting Lily and asking her what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>he should do, but she’d insist it was a date - though it definitely wasn’t a date, because who asked someone out on a date twenty minutes before it started - and there was no point hyping himself up for the not-date. He realised he was wandering round his room, the word “date” swirling around his head, and so he threw on a beanie - a navy so dark it was almost black, with little yellow and white constellations embroidered into the wool - because, yes, he was ever so slightly still clinging onto his hipster phase, and dashed out the door, leaving one lace on his Converse-style trainers - because who could afford actual Converse - undone in his haste.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The coffee shop had the kind of atmosphere that you always wanted to be surrounded by; after twenty minutes in a deep red armchair with overflowing cushions and one sip of some elaborately names coffee that cost more than a small bar of gold, you’d re-evaluate all your life choices, promise to join the gym, start writing a book, and possibly run for President - if you weren’t Remus, because he had the good fortune of being Welsh. The combination of the fairy lights, the jazz music that just </span>
  <em>
    <span>enveloped </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, the cookies shaped like cats, and the cacti sitting next to menus was intoxicating, and Remus decided that a place where he lost all connection with reality - because the coffee shop really did seem that magical - probably wasn’t the best place for a first date. If, of course, this was a date. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, all thought stopped as he spotted Sirius leaning kneeling down on the pavement, stroking someone’s dog and chatting to the owner. Although it could be considered slightly creepy - the “could be” in that statement helped lessen Remus’ stalker guilt  - because Remus was blatantly grinning at what Sirius was doing in a very couple-y way, he did it anyway, then blushed when Sirius looked up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come stroke him! His name’s Benjamin.” At Remus’ clear hesitation, he stood up, sending him a beseeching smile. “It’ll help with your stress...Please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After five minutes of stroking a stranger’s dog, which was admittedly incredibly soft, Remus and Sirius finally headed inside, nestling themselves in a corner of the coffee shop where all the children’s drawings were tacked onto the wall. Remus gazed at a one done by a girl named Heather, age six, who’d scribbled a tiny dragon sitting on the shoulder of a Princess with a scaly tail peeking out of her dress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it annoyed him that six year olds were better artists than him.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be rude or anything-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re definitely about to say something rude. Also, what’s gotten into you? Being polite? Are you sick? Here, let me check.” Remus reached out a hand and planted his palm on Sirius’ forehead, and, like a fucking cliche, left it there for just a second too long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m very polite! But I was gonna ask, why are you so…” Sirius trailed off, waving his hand as if trying to fish a coherent sentence out of the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna need more words than that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry. Just, why are you so closed off? You’ve said your whole bullshit thing about you being some peasant-y costumer, and me apparently being better than you, which is absolute shit. But, why do you insist on pretending you’re okay?” Lily usually knew exactly what to say to make Remus spill all his problems, and his mother had always given him this tiny smile, that just screamed that she knew something was wrong, but nobody had ever been this point-blank with Remus before. Nobody had ever looked him straight in the eye, as Sirius was doing, and directly asked him about his feelings. And, if he was honest, before that night Remus wouldn't have wanted them to. But with Sirus it was different. It didn’t feel pressing, or like he was only asking because he was nosy and wanted to go and gossip about it; the way his eyes went gentle, and the way he bashfully tapped Remus’ pinkie with his own, made it feel like he genuinely cared, like he wouldn’t sleep until he knew what was bothering him. So Remus told him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess because I feel like I have to. I’ve got people depending on me-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s depending on a twenty-something, and why are they putting responsibility on you? You’re stressed enough already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s...hard to explain.” Remus, however much he trusted Sirius, wasn’t about to start heaping all his problems on Sirius at one time, so he settled with a simpler explanation. “And honestly, I’m not going through all that explaining right now. But to sum it up, there’s about a million things causing me stress, and all except one are because of the people who live with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, your roommates must be bad,” Sirius muttered, and Remus grinned at that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, they’re alright. But it’s hard, sometimes. Money, work, making sure they don’t kill themselves,” Remus paused, thinking back to earlier that afternoon. “Or kill each other. I mean, it’s worth it, but fuck if it isn’t hard work. And, God, every week there’s something new to do. That's why I lost my shit at the fire; it was just the final straw. There’s always ten times more on my plate than can fit; for years we’ve been living week to week, wondering if this time is the time the landlord decides he’s had enough and evicts us, wondering whether we’ll have enough to pay both the water </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>electricity bills, or whether I’ll have to choose one to pay. Thinking that I can’t buy a new pair of shoes, even though the soles are falling off my current pair, because I’ve got student loans to pay, and so spending the night sewing my shoes back together. Buying fruit that’s probably not the best to eat, because it’s the only thing we can afford. Walking the hour and a half to work for a month, because I spent the bus savings on money to fix the window. Having the hot water go off, and not being able to fix it for three weeks because if I use the money on that, we’re not eating. Sure, it could be worse, but it’s a whole lot of stress.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it could be worse, but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to lose your shit at it. It’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but it is what it is. Though, God, I hate that phrase. It’s not what it is, because you shouldn't have to work a full time job and then do extra on the side, just to provide for yourself. You shouldn’t have to fight to get decent things or be able to do the things you want, and yet thousands of people do. Millions.” Remus took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the burn he’d have on his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re amazing.” Sirius was gazing at him over the coffee cup, looking positively enamoured. “Just, you’re so smart, and you’re kind, and whatever’s going on in your life, you handle it well.” He slid his hand over Remus’, so subtly that he could have just been reaching for a napkin, and glanced up at him to gauge his reaction. Remus, shocked into action by Sirius’ earnest words and sheepish looks, grabbed his hand before he could move away, and interlinked their fingers. He was probably gripping his hand too hard to be comfortable, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was staring at Remus like he was some Greek God put on the Earth only for him - there was adoration, amazement, and pure joy all mingled together in his eyes to form a pool of beauty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Remus began, flicking his eyes from Sirius’ face for a second to glance at their palms, pressed together so tightly there was no air between them. “We seem to be holding hands. Quite a surprise, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really? Don’t you like it?” The panic was clear on Sirius’ face, and as he tried to withdraw his hand, Remus shook his head and laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I look like I’m hating every second of this? If I was, I would’ve let go by now, you knob.” As Remus stroked his thumb across the back of Sirius’ hand, he spotted a bright red dress on the other side of the shop, and recognised a very familiar voice. “Oh, fuck, it’s Carmen. I would say act natural, but you seem incapable of being normal, so instead just stay quiet until she leaves.” Plastering an affronted glare over his smile trying to escape, Sirius simply nodded and gripped Remus’ hand a little tighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s kind of ruined the whole mood, hasn’t it? Are you - you’re going to the filming tomorrow, right?” The room seemed to fall silent, although that was probably just Remus honing in on every aspect of Sirius - his fucking glowing laugh, the nerves hidden behind arrogance in his eyes, the hangnail on his middle finger on his left hand, the patch of dry skin between two of his knuckles - so much that he couldn’t perceive anything but him. “Good, yeah. Well, there’ll be plenty of time between different shoots.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes, the perfect romantic setting: stealing moments between shoots and fittings, trying to escape the eyes and cameras of </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> everyone there.” Remus paused a second, taking in the whole setting and imprinting it in his memory as permanently as the polaroids he used to obsessively snap - again, he was a hopeless hipster wannabe - so that when he was home later, he could fall asleep to the soundtrack of Sirius laughing at his shitty jokes while running his pinkie along his thumb. “Though my ideal date is filled with unravelling hem emergencies, tonnes of hairspray, and sneaking around, so it’s perfect. I look forward to a swoon worthy environment.” They spent another half hour talking about nonsense cloud formations, and whether snow should be scientifically impossible - it shouldn’t, Remus argued, because there’s a really fucking clear explanation for it - and what a travesty it is to make tea in anything other than a kettle or teapot; and all while they were talking, sharing their souls with each other by the linking of their hands, the world seemed to fade around them until it was only a backdrop to their already swoon worthy environment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he got home, smothering himself in blankets and the clothes thrown across his bed - he was pretty sure he was sleeping underneath one of his school shirts from six years ago - Remus couldn’t wipe the radiant smile from his face, no matter how hard he tried. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The set was, as Remus predicted, a shitshow. The time he’d drunk half a bottle of whisky with Lily and then tried to write several emails, with spite and shit encouragement from his drinking partner as the only motivation, to send with his job applications had ended better than the film set so far - and one potential employer had emailed back simply saying “No. Please never contact us again” in response to Remus’ email, which began with the sentence “I love cactuseseseses and although you are a pet shop, it’s a transferable skill”. And yet somehow, the mortification of re-reading the emails once he was sober was still better than being on set at that moment. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remus tended to stay away from set; Carmen took care of all the urgent things, and he just stayed in their office and made garments for later dates. It wasn’t that he was incapable of dealing with the stress of all the people shouting at each other and chugging Redbull, it was more just that he decided it was self care to stay away. Today they were filming the most important scene in the show; a dramatic love confession - taking place on a cliff beside the sea, because where else would it be? - including crying, a poem being recited by the laconic character that Sirius played, and a heated kiss during a downpour. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet, even though he had a strict rule of never being dragged onto set, because they were one costumer down, Remus found himself ironing garments on a foreign set - because apparently a green screen wasn’t good enough, and they wanted it to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>authentic </span>
  </em>
  <span> - and slowly losing both his patience, and the will to live. Then Sirius walked in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Lupin. Is, um, is Carmen here?” Remus wordlessly shook his head, focussing much harder than was necessary on the shirts. “Good. So, last night. Before she turned up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When we were holding hands? We established that I didn’t hate it, wanker, so don’t be getting all flustered about that again,” Remus murmured, not brave enough to raise his voice to a normal volume. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not that. I mean, yes that, but also </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>that.” There was no way that anyone would be able to decode what Sirius meant from that, and yet he looked surprised when Remus didn’t immediately catch his meaning from that. “I liked it too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great…” Remus was suddenly a strange mix of worried and fizzing with excitement, like a champagne bottle. This suddenly seemed like a lot more than friends holding hands to comfort each other - although, of course, he wasn’t viewing it as friends, due to his worrying infatuation with Sirius - and he was terrified of what Sirius would say. That he wasn’t actually gay, and he wanted nothing more to do with Remus. “I’m gay.” So, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>gay then, definitely. Didn’t mean he liked Remus though. “And, I, um, I like you. I like you more than just wanting to talk on set and have phone calls at night.” Right. That sounded suspiciously like he’d said he liked Remus. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>liked </span>
  <em>
    <span>Remus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. Or so he’d said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It dawned on Remus that he should probably say something, or at least move closer to Sirius, to show he wasn’t completely disgusted. Of the list of appropriate responses for when someone tells you they like you, laughing is not there, and yet Remus found himself actually giggling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry. Just seeking clarification, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> just say -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lupin, just answer my question. Do you, or do you not, like me? If you don’t then I’m sorry, I’ll go or something, I don’t know, I can-” This time Remus cut Sirius off, stepping forwards so their noses were almost brushing. Remus was slightly taller than Sirius, and he noticed that Sirius had a tiny scar where his hairline was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shush, Sirius.” He placed his finger on Sirius’ lips, silencing him. “There. Just, be quiet for a second, would you? Let me treasure the silence. I like you too, fuckface.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuckface?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a typical term of endearment, but you’re not exactly typical, are you? As I was saying before you </span>
  <em>
    <span>rudely interrupted </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, after I explicitly told you to be quiet, was that I’m absolutely infatuated with you. Okay? So don’t go panicking.” It was now that Remus realised he’d much rather have his mouth on Sirius’ lips as opposed to his finger, so he moved his hand to the back of his neck, pushing his fingers through Sirius’, frankly lucious, hair. There was a moment where they just stared at each other, and then they kissed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although the phrase sounded anticlimactic, it wasn’t. The smell of Sirius’ coconut shampoo enveloped him like a blanket - though it would have to be flame retardant, because he felt like he was burning. Everywhere that Sirius’ fingers skipped over felt ignited with sparks, and the plains he was mapping with his light hands were suddenly ridden with wildfire. Remus knew a fair bit about stars - he was a space kid - and right now it seemed as if all the tiny particles inside his body were spinning at speeds faster than he’d ever felt - forget butterflies in his stomach, he had a whole fucking protostar taking up his entire body - and the fire that Sirius caused meant that hydrogen was fusing left right and centre. And then, as Sirius slipped his tongue into his mouth, the explosion happened. Gas and dust were flung so far away they’d never be seen again, and Remus was no longer burning. No, now he felt like a star. His hands roamed everywhere, and they were moving towards the cupboard, pulling each other inside and slamming the door shut, all while they continued to explore each other. Remus pulled apart for a second, amazed at the sight of Sirius. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked like he’d never sleep again; his pupils were blown wide, his mouth stretched into the biggest, most shit-eating grin Remus had ever seen, and his eyes were filled with energy. They screamed “I could do this forever, and I’d never get bored”, they yelled into the void that he’d found his purpose. All Remus could hear before he pulled Sirius in by his shirt collar was a whispered “Wow” - said so reverently, in the same tone that his grandparents would say “Amen” before every meal, the personification of angels and miracles and explosions and choirs - and then he burned again. The feeling of Sirius’ mouth on his wasn’t a drug, it was a reason to live. And then, as he hurriedly pulled apart the buttons on Sirius’ shirt, cursing when they didn’t come off as fast as he’d wanted, Remus couldn’t think of anything but the stars, burning and blazing, and how he’d give anything to feel like that forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Leaving a comment would make my day (hint hint) and coming to say hi on tumblr would also be awesome. My username is lilylemon12. <br/>P.S. Thanks to Raymondbageria (who was previously the MY GOD anonymous commenter) who has given me so much encouragement that the chapter was finished a week earlier than expected. Merci :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Even more phone conversations (I'm addicted to them now, you can't ever stop me writing them) and Remus' siblings have a great time humiliating him and ruining their flat even more. <br/>(Sorry for the delay, folks, but turns out my life is surprisingly busy, which was a shocker to me)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"So, I have a date with Potter -" Lily was perched on the edge of the rickety table, swinging her legs, undisturbed by the little creaks it gave off as if it were about to cave in the middle and bring her down with it; Lennie had decided for a science experiment, she should roll a bowling ball down different areas in the flat, and the only result she got was Remus screaming at her after she smashed a hole in the door when she pushed it too fast, so it was quite likely she'd also hit the table and just hadn't decided to tell anyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Your Bundy boyfriend."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's not my boyfriend! That implies the existence of more than one date, and so far all we have is dinner on Thursday. Anyway, now, I have Potter and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have Black.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I do not</span>
  <em>
    <span> have</span>
  </em>
  <span> Black. We got off together, once, in some, I don't know, some ridiculous fit of passion fuelled by stress and cheesecake. There's no having of him."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That boy is well gone, Watson, but whether you choose to realise it or not is up to you." She jumped off the table then, and it made an incredibly concerning noise - if he had any money, Remus would bet that it would have collapsed by the end of the month. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm also slightly concerned that you didn't dispute the comparison between him and Bundy."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, he can be a bit creepy sometimes, you know? He doesn't mean to be, he's sweet, but all that trying to buy me a house and then chasing me down the street yelling my name - well, it was a bit odd. Anyway, don’t change the subject."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And so you decided that in order to deter him from stalking you, you should encourage him even more by going on a date with him?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah, Watson, not everything's about stalking. He's quite good looking, when he's not being an utter knob." And so went the rest of the evening; discussing Lily's growing affection - "Not affection, Watson, it's just a tolerance for him!" - for Potter, and Remus' slight chances with Sirius. Though, he supposed, if they were slight, at least they existed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>*</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phone Call Accepted by Sirius :) at 21:43 hours</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hey..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hi..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Is it meant to be this awkward?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You'd think we'd have a lot to talk about. We do </span>
  </em>
  <span>know</span>
  <em>
    <span> each other very well now."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"By 'know' do you, um, mean..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That we shagged in a cupboard? Yes, yes I do."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You're so English, saying ‘shagged’."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I swear to fucking God, Sirius, say I'm English one more time and you'll finally understand what it feels like to have your head rammed through a wall."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No need for threats!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Not one aspect of me seems English! I have a Welsh accent, I have a Welsh pin on my jacket, I speak Welsh-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You speak Welsh?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Most people growing up in Wales actually learn to speak Italian, but I was special."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I was just asking! Does Lily?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No, she was one of the ones who spoke Italian."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So...she does speak Welsh then?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Have you really </span>
  </em>
  <span>never</span>
  <em>
    <span> heard us speak Welsh at work?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I don't go around listening to your conversations. I mean, I </span>
  </em>
  <span>have</span>
  <em>
    <span> heard you speak Welsh, but-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So you do go around eavesdropping then. Judging by your accent, I'm guessing you speak another language too."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What do you mean, my accent? It's just an American accent."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"If your accent was a font, it would just be dollar signs. And from what I understand, most rich kids learnt another language, had a few horses, probably had a fucking great car that they broke and nobody batted an eyelid, went to a poncy school, had-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Okay, I get it, I'm rich."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Just a bit."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Fuck off. And yes, I do speak another language."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Let me guess. Ancient Greek?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No, we're not that wealthy."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Your bank account would probably beg to differ, but fine. What language was it, then?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Latin."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Iesu Grist! I've never understood why people pay good money to learn a language that nobody speaks anymore."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You didn't need to learn Welsh. What's the point in learning a language when everyone speaks in English anyway?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Um, first, not everyone who speaks Welsh speaks English as well. Second, I didn't get a tutor and bloody learn it; I just spoke it. And I don't</span>
  </em>
  <span> just</span>
  <em>
    <span> speak Welsh, so jot that down too."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Wait, it's your first language? And you speak more than two? I learn more and more about you every single day, my darling."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Grew up speaking Welsh and English, and since Lily's household spoke Hindi, I spoke it too, by extension. And then there was a fair smattering of Punjabi spoken at school, so I picked up the basics. Couldn't speak it now though, it's been so long."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Wow. You'd be great to go on holiday with, since you can speak so many languages."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No, no. I'm </span>
  </em>
  <span>sure</span>
  <em>
    <span> a dead language that only rich kids learn as a status symbol would be far more useful than a language spoken by 637 million people."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Don't blame me for the linguistic mistakes of my parents!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I don’t want to alarm you with such new information, but there’s this thing called the Internet. What you do is, you use it to find resources and learn new things, and funny enough, you can actually learn a language on there, just by searching it up. So...not </span>
  </em>
  <span>just </span>
  <em>
    <span>the mistakes of your parents."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Okay, I get it, I could've taught myself a language. But I didn't, so what are you gonna do about it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Endlessly slag you off."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Fair enough, I'm glad to have that confirmed. Just wondering, why did you learn to speak Hindi just because Lily spoke it? James speaks Hindi, and all I can do is swear."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"James - James speaks Hindi, too?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yeah, why?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Just, um, surprising, is all. That Lily speaks it, and James speaks it. Funny coincidence.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Right?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anyway, we grew up in each other's houses. We were almost next door neighbours - only one house separating us - and I used to call her mother 'Maan'. We weren't just best friends, we grew up together."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I guess it's the same with James. He's like my brother."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Exactly. And since all her family spoke Hindi, after all the mealtimes and bathtimes spent there, all the times we tried to figure out homework together, every single pep talk her mother gave us - and believe me, we needed them, we were insecure kids - I learnt to speak it too."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You sound like you had a nice childhood."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hard, yeah. But nice."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hard? Why was it hard?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Nobody had it easy, where we lived. Everyone lived end to end, and everyone got their Maths skills from counting up pennies. Everyone in our family - I mean, my family and Lily's family - finished school, and that was an achievement - it was so fucking rare."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You don’t have to correct yourself. Not with me. God, that sounded soppy, I just mean-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, it’s fine. Well, yeah, ‘our family’. Her parents were basically mine, and vice versa. But people always thought it was odd that we said we were part of the same family - especially as we look so different - so we just...stopped. Anyway, I’ve done enough talking about myself; tell me about James.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Are you screening him to make sure he's not a serial killer, because of his date with Lily?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You have no idea how much we've talked about the possibility of him being the next Ted Bundy. So, yes, but also just because I want to know about you. If that doesn't make </span>
  </em>
  <span>me</span>
  <em>
    <span> sound like the next Bundy, as well."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well, I didn't have a great childhood. Loads of money, but you know what they say - money can't buy happiness. James' parents took me in when I was sixteen, like the angels they are. Everything got better once I moved in with him."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That's - that's lovely."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Yeah, it was. They really looked after me, and James was pretty alright too. Now I feel bad, because I never spoke Hindi, but I guess we can't all be perfect like you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Me? Perfect?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well, you seem perfect to me."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Being perceived as perfect by the person who thinks Titanic is a good film isn’t exactly the height of compliments. Your standards are so low that you'd need to call me God-like before it qualified as flattery in anyone else's books."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Titanic is an awesome film! The drama, the romance, the music scores! And all the iconic scenes and lines. You can’t say it’s not fantastic."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I can, and I will. You're never going to win this argument."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Probably not. But you should know, I’d love to have a Jack and Rose romance.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t really know ‘cause I haven’t seen it, but I’m sure it’s called the most tragic romance for a reason. Though I suppose </span>
  </em>
  <span>everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants a romance where they end up dead, right? Simply the </span>
  </em>
  <span>height </span>
  <em>
    <span>of romance. Also, why should </span>
  </em>
  <span>I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You said, and I quote, ‘you should know’.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just a joke, since, you know...you, um, you haven’t seen Titanic, so, I guess, erm, you should know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“For an actor, you’re really shit at lying.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine. Can I, um - listen, I think we should talk."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That may be the first good idea you've ever come up with. About the cupboard-fucking, I presume?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh my God, Lupin."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What? Did we not partake in, and I quote, cupboard-fucking?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You're just so...blunt."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You don't get anywhere with subtlety. Besides, I never thought the simple word 'sex' would make you squirm. You seemed quite alright the other day, when we were actually-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"James is in the room with me, right now."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What the bloody fuck? Didn't you bloody think to tell me this earlier, before I started talking about the bloody cupboard-fucking? I bet he thinks I’m some bloody sexual fiend now!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Nah, he's not in here, I just wanted to get you to stop talking and it was the first thing I came up with. Listen, I'm alright with the...um, process of it. But the talking, afterwards? Not my strong suit."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well, one of the languages you know isn't actually spoken by anyone, so I never guessed you'd be fantastic at the whole communication thing."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Are you still on about that? While I'm emptying the contents of my heart for you? You wound me, Remus, you shatter my heart, you-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Please, stop it. Anyway, as luck would have it, I'm not great at the talking bit either. So we can fuck it up together, hm?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I like the sound of that. Anyway, we didn't really, um, discuss, you know...fucking. I can do it, just fine-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Trust me, I know you can do it fine. I was there."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Well, you get it. But, I want to talk about this. I think - well, no, I know - that I want to not</span>
  </em>
  <span> just</span>
  <em>
    <span> get each other off."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honestly, I want that too?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That sounded more like a question than a confession."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I permanently sound disappointed and confused; it's the result of growing up somewhere where it rains all the time and they give you bloody rice pudding after every meal. Primary school, especially."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So, Wales makes you unhappy?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No, I love Wales. I'm pretty sure rice pudding is an English invention; it'd explain why it's so shit. But, to get back to the original topic: I also want more than stumbling into cupboards together whenever nobody's around."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Then, I guess, we could..."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Go on a date? Do something idiotic to secure our legacies. Though I don't think you need my help with that, you do it fine yourself."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I wish you were talking about me being good at leaving a legacy, but I'm guessing you mean I'm good at being an idiot."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You guessed correct."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Oh, I've had the greatest idea! Let's kidnap all the small animals from the zoo - badgers, beavers, chickens, sheep, cows - and set them loose at work! That'll leave a legacy!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I think you're underestimating the size of cows. They're not small, they're bloody evil fucking monsters."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Bad experience with cows?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Several. Also, and I feel the need to say this because I don't trust you - we're not stealing </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything</span>
  <em>
    <span> from zoos, nor are we letting </span>
  </em>
  <span>any</span>
  <em>
    <span> animals loose. How about, and this may be almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>too</span>
  <em>
    <span> tame for you, getting ice cream together?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Probably a better idea than mine."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"</span>
  </em>
  <span>Definitely</span>
  <em>
    <span> a better idea. Saturday?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Sure. See you then, love."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Call ended by Sirius :) at 23:13 hours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, Remus wasn’t dwelling on the fact that Sirius had actually said he’d go on a date with him - it was only teenagers that got over excited about a single date and planned every detail, and he’d moved on from those years - or the fact that at the end of the call, he’d called him ‘love’. Again. It was simply a word; two vowels, two constants, no reason for his heart to stop and restart every time Sirius called him that. And he definitely wasn’t lying back on his bed, grinning in a dazed, spaced out way, aiming his insatiable smile ceiling like it had just told a particularly funny joke. He was past infantile crushes and cringeworthy nicknames and plotting outfits for ‘the perfect date’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just then, Lennie threw the door open, and he winced at the plaster that flaked off the wall when the handle smashed against the wall - she was definitely the least careful with the flat and all it’s falling apart possessions; she’d once declared that she didn’t have to take care of the place because it was already a shithole, so what more damage could she do, and as they weren’t getting the deposit back anyway, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>disagree there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Remus, why are you looking like a badly drawn dopey cartoon character? Is it because of the…” she trailed off, looking gleeful, then clapped her hands and sang “Date?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Len, if you listen in on my phone calls one more time, I’ll - wait, what did you hear?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just that you’ve got a date, Saturday.” He couldn’t be more relieved. It was bad enough that he’d fooled around with someone from work, at work, </span>
  <em>
    <span>in the bloody cupboard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and if his siblings knew about his...escapades, he’d never seem responsible in their eyes again. “Oh, and that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>shagged in a cupboard! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And you’re always telling me to make adult decisions, like you’re not getting off at work when you’re being paid to put clothes </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>take them off.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Now Juno rushed in - she definitely had a lecture in about half an hour, but as she was busy taunting Remus, he decided he’d wait to tell her, as revenge - looking as if Christmas had come early. To be fair, the blackmail material was fantastic, and if it wasn’t his story that was currently being picked apart by his siblings - one of whom was </span>
  <em>
    <span>twelve</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and probably shouldn’t be talking about cupboard-fucking - he’d be overjoyed too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How big was the cupboard, if it fit two people in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it must have been a walk in wardrobe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, true. Wait, Re? You told us it was someone from work, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Technically, I haven’t told you </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you guys just eavesdropped on my </span>
  <em>
    <span>private </span>
  </em>
  <span>conversations.” He glared at them all, but Lennie just snapped her fingers with impatience. “Yes, it was someone from work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was it one of the actors?” He was a shite liar, couldn’t bloody fib to save his life. It had never seemed that important before, but suddenly Remus wished he could mislead people </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly </span>
  </em>
  <span>better, because seconds from now his siblings were about to know he fucked - and had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>date </span>
  </em>
  <span>with - someone they’d seen on their TV screens, and it was information he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t want them to have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It definitely was. Do we know them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look at his face, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>totally </span>
  </em>
  <span>know them. God, who is it? Um, what productions has he been working on recently?” Juno started rifling through his notes on crucial costumes, and he didn’t even try to stop her. At this point, they’d find out anyway, and he’d rather they figured it out through his work notes than by him saying it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I fucked Sirius Black, and I have a date with him this Saturday. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sure, it was nice to think - in fact, it was bloody fantastic to think, and he couldn’t stop the fireworks whenever he considered that in a few days he’d be meeting Sirius for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>date </span>
  </em>
  <span>- but he still couldn’t say it. Not yet, when there was an impossibly low chance that it’d work, and that they’d even go on a second date. “lesu Grist, Re, is it Black?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You - you slept with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And you were planning on hiding it from us that you’re dating now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re not exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>dating</span>
  </em>
  <span> - it’s one date.” He was taken back to the conversation with Lily only a few days before, where she’d protested her </span>
  <em>
    <span>clear </span>
  </em>
  <span>adoration for James, and wondered if his feelings for Sirius were as blatant on his face. They probably were; he fell asleep to dreams of his voice, and he was so far gone that it would be surprising if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>look sappy when thinking about him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And it’ll turn into many more! I just can’t believe we didn’t realise it before, when you look so besotted just talking about him.” So he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>look ridiculously dopey, then. As she was chattering about what Remus should wear, Lennie hoisted herself onto the table, and after only a second of balancing there, the table gave an inherently lassitudinous sound and collapsed, the centre part splitting clean down the middle as the legs gave out. Lennie crashed onto the floor, and the unnerving silence that followed wasn’t broken for a few minutes, until Juno gave a slight cough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go rummage around for some cardboard boxes, shall I?” She murmured, softly padding out the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kitchen, which was shambolic when they first moved in, now had three cardboard boxes of various sizes haphazardly stuck together with bright green tape resting in the centre of the room, and the shattered remains of a table, which had once been </span>
  <em>
    <span>in one piece</span>
  </em>
  <span>, piled up in the corner, blocking most of the door - which was probably a fire hazard, but as the apartment didn’t meet any usual standards, whether of cleanliness, or just the standard of not eating off cardboard boxes, Remus didn’t see why it had to meet the safety standards either. Mo carefully set down his plate, square in the middle of the smallest, unsteadiest box, and when it caved in and the plate broke on the floor, he had the audacity to look surprised that his idiocy had caused such an effect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what? Let’s pop round to Lily’s for dinner. At least she has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bloody </span>
  </em>
  <span>table.” He shot off a quick text to Lily, explaining that he was about ready to throw his siblings out the window and onto the road - if he was lucky, they’d probably get run over too - and was vaguely comforted by the series of laughing faces that she sent back. If you couldn’t fix a situation - and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>couldn’t fix a table, as his horrendous D&amp;T grades had proved - then you had to laugh at it. And later, when he’d downed enough alcohol to forgive Lennie for literally breaking their last good possession, and had eaten three slices of chocolate cake, he did laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Come say hi on tumblr, or leave a comment (I'm begging you :) )</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Any enthusiast of historical fashion knows how irritating it is when people slag off corsets without properly reading up on them first, and personally I think Remus should reassemble people's skeletal systems if they slate corsets (I have a small obsession with corsets, not gonna lie). </p><p>I'd love it if you commented, but if you'd rather scream at me on tumblr, then my username is lilylemon12, and the link is:<br/>https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lilylemon12</p></blockquote></div></div>
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